


So a Moving Van (Almost) Hits a Handyman

by thattardiskey



Series: When Our Mortal Bodies Fail Us [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meet, Gen, Meet the New Neighbors, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Pre-Friendship, Pre-Slash, Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattardiskey/pseuds/thattardiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard hadn't known the house across from his was for sale until someone started to move in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So a Moving Van (Almost) Hits a Handyman

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know this is doesn't have much interaction, but it's early world building. Please be patient. I promise there will be more of what you came for in the next piece and the pieces beyond this.

 News travels fast in a small town. Fast enough that Bard did not even have to wait until he got home to discover that someone was moving into the house across from his. Granted, this news did not travel far either. 

The day the new neighbors moved in, Sigrid was sick. She had caught the bug going around at the high school and while she fought valiantly against it  – citing the math test she didn’t want to make up – eventually the sickness won. Mostly because upon reaching her car (which she had forgotten to start) she had found it covered in heavy snow. That was the last straw. She drug herself back inside and when Bard had left, taking Bain and Tilda to school before going off to work, she was curled up on the couch feeling miserable and pathetic. Bain had brought her some chamomile tea and and a bear shaped honey container that remained untouched when they had left. Bard, after a second’s thought, risked giving her a kiss on the forehead and instructed her to take a hot bath to “sweat out the sickness.”

It was about halfway through the day when she texted Bard, he had just started his short lunch break, a gift after spending his morning working on a problematic fireplace. Fear filled him upon seeing her name, a sick teenager texting him could mean nothing good. 

Luckily, his fears were unfounded. Sigrid had texted him a slightly blurry picture of a moving van. Well, that was incorrect, she texted him a picture of a large snow bank, and the upper half of a moving van. The next picture was from a different angle and the moving van could be seen better. Beside it stood two figures bound up so throughly that no distinguishing features aside from height could be seen. They stood in stark contrast to the moving men, who wore old Carhartt jackets and hoodies. Along with the pictures she just included “ _????_ ”  

Bard knew nothing of the new neighbors, he hadn’t even known the house was for sale. The (now previous) owners were snowbirds who had flown off in early October and a “For Sale” sign had never graced the front lawn. Therefore, he had no idea how to respond to Sigrid’s texts. However, before he could, Sigrid sent another set. 

  _btw lost my voice_

_and we r out of bread_  

Bard groaned and responded that he’d try to be home soon, but was having he was trouble with a job and would bring bread. That was the last he thought of the new neighbors. 

—

It wasn’t until a few days later that Bard had time to worry about the new  neighbors. Sigrid had started to feel better, and had gone to school despite still not having a voice. Neither Bain nor Tilda seemed to be catching it, and Bard thanked his lucky stars for that. He had finished the few jobs he had had early was able to get home at a reasonable hour.  

As he pulled into his driveway, a sizable moving van was backing out of the one cross from his, almost hitting Bard’s truck. Once it was gone, the bundled figures Sigrid texted him stood, backs to him, looking their new house up and down. Bard couldn’t blame them for it. The place was a large, impeccable half window/half wooden “cabin.” It stood out even among the beautiful houses surrounding it. The part of town they lived in was populated mostly by upper-class summer homes. All of them properly extravagant. The sprawling near mansions and too perfect to be rustic cabins that dotted the road, all appropriately spaced and surrounded by thick wood, made Bard’s simple two story with a basement look like the epitome of squalor. The “cabin” across the street made all of those houses look quaintly middle class. 

It didn’t matter what kind of house he or his neighbor lived in. The fact they lived in the nicest house on the block was irrelevant.There was no reason for him not to be polite. Especially since they would be the only two families on the street for a good portion of the year. The houses around them would be bustling from May to Early September, but dead the rest of the time. So Bard strode into his house, gathered his children, and attempted to go meet the new neighbors. 

“But da!” Sigrid croaked, sounding not unlike a 50 year old five-pack-a-day smoker. “We don’t have anything to bring.”

“Yeah! We don’t have any cookies to bring the new people!” Tilda cried.

“We can invite them over for dinner or something. Maybe have a barbecue. The grill isn’t too snow covered.”

“Burgers?” Tilda asked, completely won over, “Stuffed burgers?”

Bard nodded. Sigrid gave him a suspicious look. 

“I’m game.” Bain shrugged. Sigrid shot him a betrayed look.

“Me too!” Tilda agreed.

Bard smiled. “Well then, it’s settled.”

Tilda ran off in search of her jacket and boots, Bain trailing behind her. Bard stayed behind, watching Sigrid get up with a groan and a pathetic look in her father’s direction. The pair made their way to the front door, where Tilda was already tightly bundled up. Bain stood next to her, hoodie dawned and flip-flops securely on his feet. Bard knew he ought to say something, that is what a responsible parent would do, but Bain and his flip-flops was an unwinnable battle. He had fought it many times before. The boy _would_ escape wearing those awful shoes in the middle of winter at some point, and arguing just caused unneeded hate and discontent. 

Bard was still dressed from work, a complete package of worn jeans, fraying in places around the bottom of the legs and darned at the knee, paint covered flannel, and drywall flecked hair. He pulled on the old, tanned work boots he’d taken off mere minutes ago and didn’t bother with the laces or a jacket. The thick flannel served him well throughout the day, and it would continue to.

Sigrid roughly and uncaringly shoved her feet into her father’ galoshes and grabbed her winter coat, zipping it up like she was making a point. 

“Well,” she grumbled, “Let’s go.” 

They filed out the door. 

Across the street, the new neighbors were headed towards their front door, wading through the ankle deep snow that covered their front lawn.

“Hey!” Bard shouted, raising a hand in a wave.

Both of the neighbors turned, just reaching their plowed driveway, long platinum blond hair catching the air in sync from where it peaked out from under their respective hats. They stopped. Bard hurried, his walk turning to a slight jog. He stopped a few feet in front of them, rocking from the ball to the heel of his feet. His children were a short distance behind him, walking at a more normal pace.

“Hey, I’m Bard.” He stuck his hand out, the taller figure took it with a gloved hand and Bard was able to get a better look at the bundled figures.

They were clearly related, father and son. They shared a complexion, paler than most people Bard had met – even in the dark and cold winter – and hair color. The son was probably about Sigrid’s age. The father, even with his red chilled cheeks and nose, seemed to give off what was either an ethereal glow or a frankly insane superiority complex. 

“Thranduil.” The father said, and for a second Bard was taken back by how deep his voice was. “This is my son, Legolas.” Legolas gave slight wave, then stuffed his hand back into his pocket.

“Nice to meet you both.” Bard nodded, hands awkwardly falling to his side as the handshake ended. His children came to stand by him. “These are my kids.” He looked over to them.

“I’m Sigrid,” she introduced, her voice scratchy and almost indecipherable. She gave a painful cough after speaking and looked to her father. He nodded and she turned around, slowly walking back to their house.

“She’s sick. There’s a cold going around.” Bard explained. 

“I’m Tilda!” Bard’s youngest spoke up, bouncing in her excitement. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Tilda.” Thranduil said, smiling slightly.

“Hi.” Legolas said, following his father’s lead. They looked to Bain, who had not spoken yet. 

“Bain.” He extended a hand like his father had. Both Thranduil and Legolas shook it, their dark gloves a stark contrast to his wind chapped hand. 

“So, we wanted to invite you to a barbecue. Get to know the neighborhood and all.” Bard motioned around to the unplowed driveways around them. “It’ll be just us most of the year.”

“I assumed. Dinner would be agreeable. When would work for you?” Thranduil asked.

“Well, today’s what? Tuesday?” Bard looked to his son.

“Yes, da."

“Sunday. Sigrid ought to be feeling better by then. Don’t want to stress her out. Feels like-“ Bard stopped short. Sigrid described it as ‘steamed shit,’ but he didn’t feel that was appropriate in front of the new neighbors, “Feels right awful, poor girl.”

“Sunday will work for us. Should we bring anything?”

“If you want you could bring a dessert or something. We’re having burgers, so it ain’t like we’re doing anything complex.” Bard shrugged.

“We’ll bring a dessert.”

It was silent. The two men looked each other over. 

“Will that be all?” Thranduil asked. 

“Uh, yeah.”

Thranduil turned away and started toward the house, Legolas shortly behind him.

“Actually, wait a second.” He strode up to them, searching through his pockets. Finally, he pulled out his wallet, and a business card from it.Thranduil stopped, Legolas retreated into the cabin. 

The card was beat up. One end rougher than the other from where it stuck out of it’s slot. It was simple, a hearty white card stock with black and red ink. The white had turned into a more eggshell or even brownish color from having stayed in the wallet so long and there was a distinct line where the paper went from a fabric softness from age to a stiff protected paper. He’d had the cards made when he first started out, before realizing that he knew everyone, not just in town, but in the area, and that they most certainly didn’t need a card with his number on it to know where to find him. 

“Here,” he held it out, “If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. Or walk across the road. You know where I live.” He gave an awkward laugh. 

Thranduil took the card between two fingers and flipped it so he could fully see it. He inspected the card for a moment, and played with the aged edge.

“A handyman?” 

“For 3 years now.” Bard saw what it must look like, “Seriously though, if you need any help… I didn’t mean it as a job. I meant it as a neighbor.” 

“Thank you.” Thranduil nodded slowly and went inside.

 

 


End file.
